Addiction
by Deranged Black Kitten
Summary: Dick's hands were shaking, his blood was boiling, and he wanted it all to stop, wanted to ask for help, but the right words never came, only the wrong words, things he didn't want to say. Warning: Dark fic and mentions of drug-use
1. Part One: Addiction

_One type of writing exercise I do, when I can't think up an actual plot, is to describe in one sentence a specific scene I want to see (for example, KF and Robin chilling in a field of yellow flowers), and then I build up a plot around that one sentence. That's how this story came about. Make no mistakes though, my example of KF and Robin in a field of flowers was NOT the sentence I used to create this fic, and I say this because that's a rather nice, light-hearted scene whereas this particular story is pretty damn dark and kinda messed up (cause that's usually how I roll)._

_Another note, I like to think that the characters are a bit older in this, with Robin at least being around fifteen._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice. Don't sue me. _

* * *

.

**Part One – Addiction**

Dick's hands were shaking – _again,_ shaking again, had been shaking so much lately and wouldn't _stop _– when he finally got back home, to Wayne Manor and not through the entrance to the Bat Cave. It was late at night, could even be considered to be an ungodly hour of the morning, and usually that wasn't a problem, that was normal, except he hadn't been out on patrol that night. He hadn't been on patrol as Robin for a while now – a punishment, in a way – and words of the past, of the reasons why, flitted across his mind.

"_in no condition to –"_

"_all this lying –"_

"_impaired judgment –"_

"_-if you would just talk to me-"_

"_-can't trust you like this."_

He let out a slow, shaky breath, not even realizing that he had been panting before, and swallowed thickly as he crept through the Manor's halls. Just get to his room, he just had to make it back to his room and slip into bed – hope that his absence hadn't been noticed, that Bruce was still out doing his Dark Knight thing.

"Where the hell have you been?"

The hall lights switched on and they were bright – so bright, too bright – Dick squinted, blinking as his eyes burned and watered. Bruce stood before him, arms crossed over his chest and the disapproving look of The Bat on his face.

Where had he been? That was always the question, every single night that they did this – for how many months, Dick lost count – and always because he could never manage to sneak past his guardian.

Where had he been?

Dick thought back – _where? – _tried to remember – _where? – _it had just been an hour earlier, so he should know, but nothing came to mind, nothing about his earlier whereabouts, and this was wrong, this was just so _wrong, _and he wanted to say so, wanted to say that there was something off about this whole situation and '_why couldn't you see that there's something wrong here?' – _but the words never came, not this night, not the previous night, not any of the nights that this had all been going on for however many months.

Instead, sickly sweet words dripped over his mind like warm honey and they were so nice, nice, nice, that he couldn't possibly _not_ follow their commands to be evasive, to never tell – even of things he couldn't remember – to be petulant and work at breaking ties '_because you're just fine, my lovely. Everything's just fine, and everyone around you will just get in your way.'_

"Well?" Bruce asked impatiently when Dick remained silent for too long.

"Nowhere important," Dick said, his tone angry, snappish.

"Dick-"

"It's none of your business!" he shouted.

He attempted to brush past the man, just wanting to get to his room to climb into bed because the shaking wouldn't stop and his blood was boiling in his veins and there was an aching feeling _everywhere, _but Bruce clapped a hand down onto his shoulder, not about to let him end the conversation so quickly.

"You're my responsibility, Dick, that makes this my business," Bruce said, stern, angry, always disapproving.

The man's eyes scanned over his form, and Dick knew exactly what he looked like to his guardian, to everyone that knew him. His overly pale skin, the shadows around his bloodshot eyes, the shaking and the sweating – Dick had looked in the mirror enough times, seen it all himself, and wondered how this had all started, how this had all begun, _what_ this even was and why was it happening to him...

_What are you on? What are you taking? Are you high right now?_

All questions that Bruce had stopped asking after so many times of asking and Dick never giving him a straight answer.

"I'm pulling you out of school," Bruce said.

It was different from Bruce's usual sort of response, but not entirely unexpected, not after he had pulled him off of the Young Justice team because he was '_becoming a liability,' _and Dick knew what to expect next because they had done this dance before. Drug tests and doctors visits where they'd find the slightest traces of things Dick didn't remember taking, and then the threat of rehab was always lingering in the background.

It shouldn't have meant anything to him, being pulled from school, because he'd always been smart enough to be bored by anything his school taught him, and he'd always been of the opinion that he'd much rather be fighting crime than doing something for school (of course, Bruce had put a stop to his crime fighting, had grounded him from being Robin), yet those warm honey words were in his head again, saying '_can't have that' _and the uncontrollable anger was flaring up and Dick was shouting again.

"I don't need to take any of this crap from you!"

He wanted to stop – stop with the anger, stop with the shouting, but he couldn't, he just kept going, kept shouting, kept saying things he didn't want to say.

"There's nothing left for me here, no reason for me to stay here!"

No, no, no.

"Give me ten minutes and then I'm out of here," he said, tone deadly serious as he pulled away from Bruce.

"Dick, wait-"

"And if you try and stop me, well then maybe I'll just have to have a few words with child services and some news stations about Batman and Robin," Dick said, glaring up at the man.

He didn't mean it, _really_, he didn't, but Bruce seemed to think he did, and remained silent as Dick left for his room. Bruce had never forced him into the crime-fighting life, that had all been Dick's choice, and it would seem that Bruce was taking this all as being Dick's way of resigning from the job.

When Dick exited his room not too long after, it was with a bag packed full of essentials. Bruce was standing by the Manor's main front door, watching him as he came down the stairs to leave.

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce asked, emotions masked, but Dick could have sworn he saw a hint of sadness somewhere in the man's gaze.

'_No, I'm not sure. I don't want this. Please, please don't let me leave.'_

"Yes," Dick said, briskly, irritably.

"You'll always be welcome here, Dick," Bruce said. "If you ever need help..."

"Good bye, Bruce."

'_No.'_

He walked out the front door.

.

* * *

.

He walked for a long while, that's what he remembered most about that night after leaving the manor. He remembered walking, he remembered the night chill that seeped through his jacket, and he vaguely remembered making a call at a payphone before things got too hazy to remember.

The days kind of bled together after that. He still went to school, ridiculously enough, just going through the motions and losing himself in the droning normalcy of it all, and it was during school hours when the fog that kept flooding his mind was at its thinnest, and he could be aware of the looks people kept giving him – concerned or disapproving – and he could also be aware of all the texts and voice messages his cellphone kept getting until the ringing and beeping became too much and he dropped it down a drain of a sewer.

The nights were a complete blank to him, but he preferred them to the day because daytime was filled with shaking, sweating, fire ants under his skin and an ache that just kept getting more and more painful. During the night though, when the fog consumed all coherent thoughts, there was a sense of calm and warm honey words – _everything's fine, my lovely – _and a floating euphoric sensation that he never wanted to stop.

"Dick..."

"Hey..."

"Jesus, _Richard!"_

Blue eyes blinked sluggishly. He was standing on some random street, leaning against a light post – or more like using the light post to keep himself standing, and it took him a few seconds to recognize the red hair and the freckles of the one standing in front of him.

"Wally?" he blinked again, just as slowly, and then winced, because with coherency came the shaky, jittery _ache _that he just wanted to stop. "What are you doing in Gotham?"

"What am I doing here?" Wally questioned incredulously. "First you're pulled off the team and then you stop answering your phone and disappear off the freaking planet. What the hell do you think I'm doing here?"

"Wally, I'm fine," he insists, frustration already leaking into his voice.

"Oh, sure, cause you look totally fine," Wally said sarcastically, gesturing at him with one hand.

"Drop it, _Wallace, _I'm not talking about this with you," he snapped, stepping away from the light post and feeling quite happy that he was steadier on his feet than he previously thought.

"Dude, come on, I'm your friend, I'm concerned about you," Wally said, following after him when he began to walk away. "We all are, and Bruce just wants to help you. _I_ want to help you."

"I don't need your help," Dick said, giving the red-head his best Bat Glare.

'_I do. I do need your help.'_

"I don't need anyone's help."

But he really did need help, _someone's _help, because it was getting later and the sun was going down and that was when the ache was at its worst and he could hardly think straight because of it, because of the pain and the shaking and the _need_ for it to all _stop,_ and for the fog to roll in on his mind and make it all go away. He needed help because this had all been going on for far too long and it had been getting progressively worse ever since he left home.

There was a hand on his shoulder, Wally's hand, but the ache made the touch hurt so much that he violently pushed the other boy away, knocking him to the ground as he shouted, "Damnit Wally, just leave me the fuck alone!"

Dick ran even though he knew that it was futile to run from a speedster like Wally, but the other boy didn't follow – '_Please, please, follow me. Stop me' – _so he got away easily and nothing else seemed to matter after that because there was fire burning beneath his skin and it hurt, hurt, hurt so much – '_Make it stop. Please make it stop.'_

And he was running blindly down alleyways and then the warm honey words were trickling down his mind – _Of course, my lovely, I'll make it stop. _When the shadows from the corners of the alley seemed to come alive, rising up before him and sending a fog over his mind as they wrapped around him, he didn't even fight them when they took him away.

.

* * *

.

It was a week ago when Wally came to Roy for help because apparently the younger boy looked up to him and because none of their elder League members were doing anything about Robin, including Batman who seemed to be fighting with his own personal dilemma on the whole thing.

"_I don't know what to do, Roy."_

"_I found him today, he looked horrible. I tried talking to him but he just..."_

"_I'm afraid he's gonna get himself killed."_

"_Please Roy.."_

Of course, none of this was news to Roy. He had heard whispers of it the few times he was in contact with anyone from the Justice League. He had also seen Dick a couple of times before he stopped being Robin and was pulled off the Young Justice team, and had recognized all the signs on the younger boy, had seen it all before not that long ago on _himself_ whenever he looked into a mirror.

He felt like... he should have said something to Dick, but when that had been him, no amount of lecturing had helped, and he kind of felt like, of all people, he didn't have much right to lecture anyone about not doing drugs. Plus, from the sounds of it, Dick wasn't at a stage in his addiction yet where he would be likely to accept help from anyone, and forcing the younger boy into doing something he didn't want to do wouldn't be helping anyone.

Yet Roy came to Gotham anyway, because he was concerned, because he felt like someone should be doing something, because he didn't want Dick throwing his life away in the same way that Roy almost had..

..Because of Wally and those damn watery green eyes.

Knowing from Wally's experience that an outright confrontation wasn't the way to go, Roy decided to start off by just staying in the background, out of sight, and observe the other boy from a distance. Under normal circumstances, Dick would have known right off that he was being followed, but his mind was clearly impaired by whatever it was that he was taking. Roy had even tested the other boy by literally bumping into him on the street – dressed in his civvies of course – and either Dick was good at pretending that he didn't recognize Roy, or he simply hadn't known it was him. Roy was betting that it was the latter.

He watched the younger boy for a week, and the fact that Dick still bothered to go to school everyday seemed a little odd to him. At first, Roy thought that maybe that was where Dick was getting the drugs, but after a lot of scrutiny, he couldn't pick up anything of the sort going on at the school, and so he let that little fact drop to the back-burners of his mind in favor of other more pressing things.

Such as the fact that in the entire week that he stalked after the younger boy, he still had no idea where Dick stayed during the night. Every time it got dark out, Dick would head down some random alley and pull off the usual Bat move of slipping into the shadows and disappearing before Roy could even hope to follow him, and since Roy had yet to see any drugs exchange hands during the day, he figured that Dick got his fix during the night, after he pulled off his disappearing act.

'_I'm ready for it tonight though.'_

He had slipped a tracker on Dick just moments before, having brushed past him and stuck the small device to the back of Dick's jacket as the boy hurried down the street. Now, dressed in his Red Arrow gear, he waited on the rooftops, his gaze alternating between watching Dick down on the streets below and monitoring the small hand-held device that the tracker was transmitting to.

He was ready for a chase, knowing how good Robin was at disappearing and escaping pursuers, yet when the younger boy vanished into the darkness of the night, Roy was completely unprepared for the tracker to go from being just a single building away to being off somewhere on the other side of town.

'_What the hell?'_

He somehow doubted that Dick had not only found the tracker, but had also managed to hack into it and throw off the signal in such a short amount of time, not when the other boy was in such a state. It was possible, but highly unlikely.

'_So then what? The tracker glitched on its own?'_

Or maybe it was something else, some form of teleportation perhaps. Stranger things have happened, but if it was teleportation, then there was definitely something more going on than just a drug problem.

The small blinking dot on the hand-held device suddenly disappeared as the tracker stopped transmitting completely, but Roy at least knew its last location. It was a lead and it was better than nothing.

'_For now, at least.'_

He headed out across Gotham, making his way to the tracker's last location as fast as he could.

.

* * *

_End of Part One of this two-part story (because I don't feel like writing anymore tonight, so I decided to just post this and finish up the rest of the story later). It's funny, I didn't care for Roy very much at all until last week's episode. Now he's sneaking his way into my story ideas and I'm torn between having him be a brotherly figure or pairing him with someone. For this particular story though, I don't really have any pairings in mind, just close friendships.  
_

_Reviews motivate me to get to writing quicker, so review please and tell me what you think. :)_


	2. Part Two: Confection

_Part two of Addiction for you all! (and not the final part, despite what I previously said) Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews for part one, they always inspire me to keep writing. _

_**A Warning for everyone:** Part two contains sensitive, possibly trigger-y content, and a non-con type of situation. The word 'disturbing' comes to mind. _

_Characters are older in this story, with Robin being around fifteen._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice, don't sue me._

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_.  
_

**Part Two - Confection**

Topiaries and fresh paint and clean windows that sparkled in the moonlight, brightly-colored flowers in all the window boxes, it wasn't what Roy had been expecting at all. There were no dirty streets or an abandoned warehouse, no hotel that had rooms paid for by the hour, there was nothing grungy or unkempt about the place at all.

Instead of Gotham's dark underbelly, the last location of the tracker he'd placed on Dick had led him to one of the nicer parts of town, specifically to a friendly looking house on a hill – not really a mansion like the ones so many of Gotham's richer residents occupied, and at the same time not an apartment complex like what the rest of Gotham's population usually lived in.

He'd like to think that Dick had lucked out and found someone nice to spend the night with, a friend from school or maybe a family friend of Wayne's, but he couldn't help but remember the suspicious circumstances leading him here, the tracker jumping across Gotham in a split-second, and it was enough to make him want to go inside and check on the younger boy, even if that meant breaking-and-entering.

As he jimmied open a window and slipped inside, the overpowering scent of vanilla hit his nose, and everything was just as nice and clean inside as it was outside to the point where it kind of set Roy's teeth on edge and he didn't really know why. There was a silent stillness about the dark house, all the lights were off, and there wasn't much in the way of personal effects save for a few paintings hung up on the walls, paintings of a brightly-colored house in a forest that looked just a cheerful and perfect as the one he stood in.

The kitchen he passed by didn't look very well-used, and the lemony-fresh smell of cleaner hit his nose along with the vanilla that permeated the air of the rest of the house. He moved on up a set of stairs after determining that the bottom floor was completely empty, as silently as he could so as not to make the stairs creek, and as he reached the top of the staircase, another smell drifted past his nose, so faint and almost entirely masked by vanilla.

A familiar metallic scent that could only be blood, and had him pulling out his bow.

Down at the end of a hallway lined with doors, low, flickering light seeped out from under one door in particular; the first real sign of life he had seen in this stepford-esk home. He moved quickly but quietly towards the door, holding his bow tight and wanting to be prepared for anything, including having to make a run for it from a frightened home-owner screaming and threatening to call the police, because although it was unlikely, he couldn't completely rule out the possibility that Dick _had_ hacked the tracker and had sent him off to some random location.

Yet as he got closer to the door, the faint smell of blood grew stronger, and Roy didn't believe in that many coincidences. The tracker had led him here for a reason.

Drawing closer to the door, wrapping one hand around the door knob, he could just barely make out the sound of movement inside, and a woman's voice, muffled through the wall and speaking too low for him to actually pick out any words.

He turned the door knob slowly, silently, intending to go for a more stealthy approach, but as he opened the door just a small sliver of the way, and the smell of blood washed over him, completely overpowering the vanilla, all attempts at subtlety were thrown out the window and he kicked the door open, drawing an arrow from his quiver.

He had seen a lot of gruesome and down-right fucked up things throughout his years moonlighting as a vigilante hero, things that he liked to think he could face head-on without flinching and with a sort of cold demeanor that demanded control of the situation, yet as he took in the scene before him, he faltered.

He hadn't known what it was he'd been about to walk in on, but... shit, not this.

Dick, clad in only his boxers and lying limp on a bed, staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling and bleeding from the dozens of cuts that marred his body; dark red pooling up on his chest and stomach, staining his skin and the sheets beneath him – _fuck_, Roy hoped that the flickering light from the many candles that were scattered about the room only made it look worse than it actually was.

And hunched over the younger boy, dressed in a red nightgown and straddling his legs with a bloody knife gripped firmly in-hand, was a woman. She sat up quick, twisting around in place to face Roy when he had kicked the door open – stared at him with a shocked expression, her eyes wide with almost an odd purple hue to them – she had blood on her lips and smeared down past her chin. Roy realized a split second later that he recognized this woman.

She was one of Dick's teachers.

Coming back to himself, his eyes narrowed into slits as his grip tightened around his bow and arrow, and the woman's eyes suddenly bled black at his intentions. She snarled, her face twisting into something unnatural.

As she sprang at him from the bed, he backpedaled, shooting off an arrow at her, one set to taze, but her body seemed to morph, losing its form and color as shadows danced off the walls and washed over her until there was nothing remotely human left of her appearance. His arrow harmlessly sank into the shadows that was her stomach, disappearing to who knows where, and she slammed into him with clawed limbs a second later, knocking him back through the door and into the hallway.

He half-caught himself in the hallway, dodging back from a second strike of claws and standing up straight. He shot a net-arrow at her, but her body oozed through it effortlessly, and she was advancing on him faster than he could think; this wasn't a kind of threat he had ever really dealt with before, and his mind was racing to try and figure out some sort of weakness that he could exploit.

Backing up, he shot off a few blunted-edged arrows to slow her down, watching the way they sank into her shadowed form and disappeared, watching the way she seemed to gain strength from the darkness around her, growing larger and more menacing.

Eyes narrowing in consideration, he reached back and grabbed one arrow in particular, shooting it off not at her, but up at the ceiling. He quickly shut his eyes as a second later, a bright light burst out of the arrow head – similar to a flash bang – and an enraged scream met his ears. He squinted one eye open just in time to see her flood into the small amount of shadows that remained in the corner of the hall and disappear.

A tense silence descended over the house and he took a couple hesitant steps back, peering around himself as he readied another arrow just like the last. It was possible that she had fled the house completely, but he wasn't about to let his guard down.

The arrow above him flickered a few times before shorting-out, and he only had enough time to say '_shit' _before clawed hands burst out of the darkness and pushed him –

– right down the stairs.

He twisted his body, controlling the fall as much as he could, but when you're in a confined space like a narrow staircase, there's only so much that you can do.

Hitting the ground with a half-suppressed grunt of pain, he rolled away from the staircase, using his momentum to rise back to his feet. He turned in a circle, searching, because she wasn't coming down the stairs and he was surrounded by dark shadows. From off to the left, she emerged out of the darkness, rising up high above him, something resembling a fanged mouth stretching open into a snarl, and he raised his bow and arrow up for a second strike.

He realized too late that she was just diverting his attention when something suddenly hit him in the back and electricity coursed through his body. He collapsed forward, completely paralyzed.

She had used his own arrow against him, the very first one that he had shot at her.

As she slowly shrank in size – shadows receding from her form and body morphing back into its more human appearance save for one shadowed, clawed hand – from all around, the shadows whipped out at Roy, tearing his bow and arrow out of his hands and his quiver from off his back, tossing the weapons across the room and far out of reach.

Her lips pulled up into a small smile, stained red with Dick's blood which stood out even brighter than her red nightgown. He grit his teeth and shifted jerkily on the floor, struggling to regain control of his muscles as she sauntered over to him, and could do nothing as she pressed her foot against his neck.

"Well aren't you a cute one?" she said with a wide smirk and a slight tilt of her head. "And such a gentleman too, coming here and offering yourself up to me."

Roy growled up at her, fingers twitching and muscles straining. She pressed her foot down harder against his neck.

"I could just snap your neck right now," she said, adding even more pressure. "Pop that pretty little head off and have myself a nice treat."

Reaching down, she flicked the arrow off his back before grabbing him by the shoulder with her clawed hand and lifting him up off the ground as if he was weightless. Slamming him back against a wall and holding him there in place, she pressed herself up against him, reaching up to trace one finger down his cheek with her human hand as she said, "But that would be a waste, now wouldn't it? Just one meal before you go bad, and we can't have that."

The black faded from her eyes – brown eyes, Roy realized – but no, wait, there was that purple hue he had briefly seen before.

"Can never have too many donors, can I?" she asked.

The purple hue, it almost seemed to glow...

"Tell me you want to help me, my lovely."

Brighter and brighter...

His hands curled into fists.

"We could have so much fun, you know."

It was almost kind of nice, the purple, and –

But... he was there for a reason...

"Tell me that you want to satisfy me."

Roy slowly reached down to his side, muscles tense but finally working, his fingers sliding into one of the pockets she hadn't thought to empty.

"Tell me –"

He knocked her back with his left arm before swinging out at her with his right, catching her across one eye with an old arrow head held firmly in his grip. She reared back with a scream, stumbling, and – surprise, surprise, she bled just as red as Dick.

With her distracted and gripping at her one bleeding eye, Roy lunged for his gear, picking up his bow and a couple arrows from his quiver to fire in rapid succession at various spots around the room. Bright light burst out of each arrow, completely bathing the room in a white glow, and the woman shrieked, crumpling to the ground.

Squinting against the light, Roy pulled one last arrow out of his quiver and shot it at the ground next to her. A sticky red substance flooded out of it, foaming around her curled up form and solidifying to pin her to the floor and keep her arms and legs at her sides.

"You little monster!" she screamed, struggling. "Release me!"

Even through the bright light, Roy could see the one good eye that she had left flaring a bright purple, but the pull from it wasn't nearly as powerful, and the small urge that rose up inside of him that wanted to give in to her demands was easily ignored.

Slipping his quiver back over his shoulder, and with his bow in hand, he approached her with a cold look on his face, thinking about all that she had done to Dick, all that she had done that he didn't even know about, and how long this had all been going on, how many months Dick had had to suffer with this.

His teacher. _His fucking teacher. _

And how many other people had she done this to, how many other kids?

"Wh-what are you doing?" her voice was less confident.

And he had an arrow out, a normal arrow, aimed and ready and he couldn't even remember grabbing it. A cold feeling of rage twisted up inside him and his hands shook, wanting so much to let the arrow fly – just say that he had slipped, just say that it was self defense and that he'd had no other choice.

"_We don't kill." _the words of his ex-mentor echoed in his head.

He scowled.

_'Fuck you, Ollie.'_

Some situations just called for it, because if she was only locked up, then she could just get free at some point in the future, and who's to say that she doesn't go after Dick again, after other people, other kids. He'd be doing the world a favor.

"_It's not our right to play the role of judge, jury, and executioner."_

But he should do it anyway.

" –_don't kill."_

Things would be better if he did.

"_We don't kill."_

With an enraged snarl, he lowered the arrow. He couldn't do it, as much as she deserved it, as much as Dick deserved for it to happen so that she could never come after him again – and no, Roy couldn't let that happen, couldn't let there even be a chance of this happening to Dick again.

He wouldn't kill her, but just one eye, one hypnotic purple eye...

It wouldn't be the right thing to do, but sometimes a part of being the eldest was taking care of tough situations, and dealing with the dark and dirty so that Dick and Wally, who were like younger brothers to him, wouldn't have to.

One quick slash was all it took, an agonized scream, and those eyes would never hurt anyone again.

In the next second, thoughts of '_Dick' _and _'still bleeding' _raced through his mind, bringing him back to reality.

Roy bolted up the stairs.

.

* * *

.

Coherency came back to Dick quite suddenly, and with it were flashes of memories, things that he had forgotten over the past several months – not everything, just bits and pieces, many of them barely lucid recollections, but even that was more than he wanted to know, more than he wanted to remember.

"_Mr. Grayson, stay after class, would you? There's something quick I need to discuss with you."_

She had always seemed so nice – always wearing a bright smile and had a soft, gentle look about her. If life were a movie, she looked like she'd be the kind-hearted teacher with a fresh new outlook about how school should be taught, someone who would stand up for the good of her students.

A verifiable wolf in sheep's clothing was the reality of the matter though.

It was so clear to him now, the memory of sitting at his desk after the bell had gone off, watching all of his classmates file out of the room, watching _her_ standing by her own desk, shuffling through some papers and briefly looking up to flash him a small smile before returning to whatever it was that she was doing.

"_Um, Ms. Castle, I really should be going."_

"_Relax, Mr. Grayson, I'll write you a note for your next class."_

And then the last student left the classroom, the door to the hallway closed, and Ms. Castle finally walked over to him.

"_I need you to do something for me, Mr. Grayson."_

A flash of purple –

"_Tomorrow in class, you will backsass me."_

– it glowed so bright.

"_You will be very disrespectful and I will give you detention because of it. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes,"_ he replied without hesitation, and she smiled at him again, clapping her hands together once.

"_Wonderful!"_

She wrote him a note and sent him on his way to his next class, saying to him as he left, _"Oh, and __Richard? They'll be serving cake in the cafeteria tomorrow, be sure you have a slice."_

She was completely confident in everything she did, having everything planned out every step of the way, too well planned out for him to have been the first person she had ever done this too. He ate cake at lunch the next day without really knowing why and in class, he back-talked to her and earned a detention because of it. It was extremely unlike him, yet he did it anyway. He couldn't even remember what it was that he had argued with her about in class.

Then he was alone in the classroom with her after school, and she smiled at him as she graded papers, instructed him to go organize the back closet, and he was just so confused as to how things led up to this point, to him getting detention – because he was supposed to have been training that day at Mount Justice and he never would have normally done anything to risk interfering with that – he walked into the back closet without complaint and began sorting through the various supplies on the shelves.

He didn't bat an eye when Ms. Castle left him to his task to "_go grab a cup of coffee from the teacher's lounge. I'll only be a moment." _

When the closet door slid shut behind him, closing him in, he only had time to furrow his brow in confusion, throwing the door a curious glance, before Ms. Castle stepped out of the shadows, seemingly coming from nowhere, her eyes glowing a captivating shade of purple.

He could only stand there as she approached, didn't fight her, didn't do anything as she pressed him back against the shelves – even fucking helped her take off his school uniform jacket and undershirt – and clawed fingers dragged against his skin, down the side of his face and along his neck, pressing down painfully and drawing blood. Her mouth pulled up into such a honey-sweet smile as she leaned down and ran her tongue along the cuts, lapping the blood up like a perfectly content cat.

And she murmured quietly to him the whole time.

"_Our little secret, Mr. Grayson."_

"_Never tell a soul."_

"_Come up with whatever excuse you can, but never tell anyone about this."_

Glowing purple seared into his vision, and as she sliced into him again and again, smaller cuts than the first few, she whispered to him, _"Such a smart boy, always doing well on your schoolwork. That's going to have to change. You'll have to start doing poorly in my class, let your grades drop here and in a few other classes as well, with my class being your worst subject."_

She had frowned sadly, saying with a sympathetic tone,_ "It's just so hard keeping up on all those book assignments, isn't it? My poor dear. But don't worry, I'll of course offer to give you tutoring lessons and extra credit assignments that you'll have to stay after class to work on."_

And all that he could do was nod and agree and stare up into her eyes, her saliva tingling oddly against his cuts, a rush of something spreading through him and filling his head with cotton, making him feel like he was floating. His skin itched and somehow by the end of it all, the cuts had sealed up and disappeared.

Standing off to the side, she watched as he put his shirt and jacket back on, and once again reminded him quite cheerfully that this was to remain between them.

Then she was gone, disappearing back into the shadows and was back at her desk as he opened the closet door and grading papers as if nothing had ever happened – because it didn't happen, because he couldn't remember it happening. He felt... detached, as he left, and she smiled at him when he walked by her desk on the way to the door, only telling him to "_Have a good night, and remember what I said."_

His grades began dropping soon after, and Bruce of course took notice; wanted to know what was wrong, kept prying and pestering him about if there was anything going on with him, but there wasn't, because he couldn't remember, and everything was fine, because she said everything was fine – and she so generously _tutored_ him and helped him work on _extra credit assignments_ after school, sending him in to the back closet to get supplies, meeting up with him there after coming up with an excuse as to why she would need to leave her classroom.

Each time it got a little less horrible, his body unconsciously arching into the cuts that she made – to the press of her tongue – and a smothering anxious feeling that he hardly realized was there with him throughout his entire day would finally begin to recede. He could breath normally again, and the fuzzy floating feeling that enveloped his mind was actually kind of nice – welcoming even.

It occurred later on. One day, she pulled something out of the shadows, a syringe with barely anything in it – _"Just a little treat, a change of pace, a different sort of flavor." – _and he didn't fight her on that either, didn't struggle or _do anything_ as she tied an elastic around his upper arm, as she stuck him with the needle and pushed the plunger down – he just sank to the floor like a rag-doll as whatever drug it was that she had injected him with did its work; head lolling to the side as she sliced into him and tasted his tainted blood.

And he was getting worse, and the days were getting worse, becoming unbearable, and the looks everyone gave him – his teammates, Bruce, Alfred – what they must have thought of him, what they _did_ think of him.

And... and... they were right, because he actually wanted it, the drugs she gave him, and that pleasant buzz he got when she lapped up his blood – he needed it, could barely function without it – and he was just so fucking messed up, because he _shouldn't _want it – he didn't, he really didn't, but his body did, and everything was so painful when he went too many days without it.

He remembered distinctly those first few times when she brought him to her home, on days that he wasn't meant to stay after class with her and yet he did, without even knowing why, without knowing or understanding that she was the one he was going to for a fix – his mind falling into a haze when he caught sight of those glowing purple eyes, not really coherent, and at the same time not caring if he was or not.

She would smirk at him, tell him a place to go out into the city, and then would later meet him there, wrapping him up in a shadowy embrace and spiriting him away to a house that smelled of vanilla and a bedroom lined with candles, where she would pin him to a bed using only that purple gaze and would drag a knife along his flesh, spilling more blood than she ever had before.

And then...

"_Don't you think you'd be happier spending every night with me, my lovely?"_

His fight with Bruce, saying things that he didn't mean, that he didn't want to say.

All leading up to this night, a night like every other night – purple glowing eyes suspending his mind in a kind of limbo, an empty syringe in the small waste basket by the bed, a single sharp knife, and _her. _

Except... she left... without sealing the cuts up like she always did, and also while there was still blood to lap up, but he was too out of it to even really process this, to notice the screams or the sounds of fighting.

Until... something _changed._

And his mind came back to him, completely back to him, and the world around him was suddenly too bright, too loud, too much of everything – like waking up and rolling out of bed into a freezing lake – and for the first time, he was struck with the realization of what was happening to him, of what had been going on for so many months. The knowledge of this choked the breath out of him for a second, and he lay shivering on blood-soaked sheets that stuck to his skin, feeling cold and light-headed and too weak to move.

He could hear the sound of pounding footsteps coming his way and – oh god – she was coming back. He shifted and strained against limbs that felt too heavy, and his mind screamed out because he _couldn't move,_ couldn't defend himself against her. His breaths came in short, panicked gasps; fingers twitching and digging into the sheets as the running footsteps drew nearer.

Tears prickled at his eyes and he strained to see the door from his position on the bed, spotting a flash of red –

– _red_ like the red nightgown that she always wore; his breathing picked up, growing even quicker.

And then Roy Harper darted around the bed – not Ms. Castle at all, but _Roy, _his friend, his brother in arms. Tears spilled past Dick's eyes, a sob catching in his throat, and he hoped more than anything that this wasn't some drug-induced hallucination, because he didn't think he could handle anymore mind-fucking at this point.

"Dick," Roy said as he crouched down next to the bed, and he sounded real, and the hand he rested against Dick's cheek – wiping away tears and blood with his thumb – _felt _real, so real. "You need to calm down," he said, speaking quietly, gently, and his voice was more of a comfort to Dick than the red-head could possibly realize. "You're hyperventilating."

Was he? Dick hardly even noticed, could barely tell about anything anymore, and things were getting kind of floaty, a muffling fog slowly rolling back over his mind. Had Roy not been there, he might have further panicked, thinking that it was Ms. Castle's influence taking him over again, even if this foggy feeling felt different than the foggy feeling he got around her.

Roy cursed under his breath, his hand moving from Dick's face to press against one of his cuts, and a moment later when he stood to move away, Dick finally managed to find the strength to reach out and grab him by the wrist, saying with shuddering words, "N-no! Don't l-leave me alone."

Roy began to explain, "Dick, I just need to –" but a weak tug at his wrist cut him off.

Masked eyes softening, the archer's resolve crumbled, and then strong arms were sliding underneath Dick, being mindful of his injures, and he was pulled up against a broad chest. At first Dick cringed, didn't mean to, it was just that there'd been so much unwanted_ touching _lately and he just couldn't help it – but this was Roy, he reminded himself of this fact several times, and being held by Roy felt so much different than when Ms. Castle pressed up against him and wrapped clawing arms around him.

Then Roy murmured, "It's going to be okay" to him as the older boy stood, lifting him up off of that cursed bed, holding him close, and though he couldn't make the tears stop falling, Dick felt like he could finally relax a little. He pressed his face against the red-head's chest, weakly digging his fingers into the front of Roy's uniform, hardly even caring where the older boy was taking him. He had never felt more tired than he did at that moment, and could only vaguely make out Roy's words.

"–_need to get you to a hospital... call Batman..._"

A hospital – being surrounded by a bunch of strangers coming at him with even more needles, swarming around him and shouting over each other, the recognition in their eyes and _"What did Richard Grayson do to himself?" – _and then seeing Bruce, having Bruce see _him _as he was; in this sorry state because he hadn't been able to fight her off, and maybe it wasn't even that he hadn't been able to fight her off, but that he hadn't _wanted _to fight her off because he was weak, pathetic, and had actually enjoyed the feeling that the drugs had given him. Thinking about all of this, it made his breath hitch, planted a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he tensed in Roy's arms, pressed his face harder against the archer's chest.

"No hospitals," Dick said quietly. "And... and... don't want to see Batman – don't want Batman to see _me._"

He could feel Roy hesitating, "I can't just –"

"_Please, Roy," _he said, looking up at Roy with teary blue eyes. "No hospitals, no Batman. _Please."_

Roy's arms tensed around him, and then he sighed, relenting, "Alright. No Batman, no hospitals."

Dick's eyelids drooped, and he struggled to stay awake. Blacking out would take away the small sliver of control he had over the situation. Far too many bad things had been happening to him lately whenever he blacked out, and though he trusted Roy, he was still worried, still nervous, and also wasn't entirely convinced by the red-head's agreement about not getting Batman involved or taking him to a hospital.

"It's alright, Dick, I got you," Roy said, apparently picking up on his hesitation. "I'll take care of everything."

He believed him, but even if he hadn't, he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

He heard one last thing before everything faded away around him.

_"Bats is going to kill me."_

.

* * *

_End of part two. What do you mean there's a part three? This was supposed to be a oneshot! (spazzes) But yes, there will be a part three, because the story got away from me, but it'll hopefully be the last chapter._

_Ms. Castle is not a vampire. This info isn't at all important, but I just felt the need to point it out. Also, I very nearly did have Roy kill her, so it was a close one there. _

_In other news, Young Justice has taken up all my free time. I have a couple other fairly long YJ one-shots I'm in the process of writing, and many others planned for the future that I haven't even gotten to yet. Also, I just recently started working on a short Young Justice animation. It's very... fan-servicey, and when I finish it, I'll likely be posting it on my DeviantArt (if the site will let me), so keep an eye out for it, I suppose (and there's a link to my DevArt on my profile page). _

_Anyway, review please and let me know what you think! :)_


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